by Marc Jones
“No,” he replied quietly. “I’ve put some discreet feelers out though. Constantius. Calorix. A few others. No replies yet. I’m worried, Marcus. The last thing we want is a war in Gaul. The place is barely recovering from the recent unrest along the Rhenus. The Limes there are no longer a joke, but they aren’t strong by any means. And if Stilicho gets involved putting down a rebellion and it gets bloody, then we lose friends, trade suffers and the chaos in Magna Germania might just drift South again.”
Poplicala nodded slowly. “I’ve heard something myself. Stilicho is indeed concentrating a lot on Italy and North Africa because that’s where his power base is. It makes sense. But that weakens his position in Gaul. I don’t like it either.”
Aurelianus rubbed his jaw and then sighed. “We have a meeting of the Council to attend. I think that we need to get a decision on more assistance for the Votadini, in case any Sea Wolf raids get nastier for them. Plus we need to strengthen the pitifully small number of marines on the Eastern shores. Worrying about Gaul is something we need to discuss with Gratianus and perhaps Decidoratus.” He paused and then looked back at the Gothic merchants in the Basilica. “Is there any news from Gaul about the Goths?”
“None that I’ve heard. Why?”
“Just a feeling I have. My thumbs are pricking a bit.”
Poplicala shot a worried look at him. “That’s bad news in itself. When you have a feeling about something bad things tend to happen afterwards.”
It was raining outside. A hard, hammering rain that was bouncing off the roof tiles on the other side of the window. Stilicho looked at the water flowing over the roof and then up at the clouds that were hovering low over Rome. There seemed to be storm clouds – of the political sort – everywhere that he seemed to look these days. Or worse, storm clouds of war. Either could be fatal.
He sighed and then straightened his toga slightly. The damn thing was terribly heavy and intricate, but it was what a Senator of Rome wore. He thought about the Senate and a tired smile flickered across his face. They were a pale shadow of what they had been in the past, during say the time of Cicero, but they still held a kind of power. Influence perhaps. Words always had a kind of power.
And as the Consuls of the year were the Emperor Honorius and Anicius Auchenius Bassus, the latter being a man of almost stupefying dullness, the Senate still mattered. Unfortunately the former was a man that Stilicho had to keep on the right side of.
He thought for a moment of Maria, who had died the previous year and a fresh stab of grief pierced his heart. She had been Honorius’ first wife. His second wife was Stilicho’s second daughter, Thermantia. He hoped that she was happy. Oh, he had such hope.
Hearing the rustle of cloth behind him he turned and saw his wife Serena walking towards him. Despite the fact that it had been an arranged marriage, an idea on the part of Theodosius, he did love her, and she him. “How are you today my love?”
She smiled at him. “I have news that you must hear before you go before the Senate.”
“Oh? What news?”
“Thermantia came to me this morning. It is still early, but she thinks that she is with child.”
Stilicho stared at her. “She does?”
“She does.”
“When will she know for certain? No – when will you know for certain?”
“In a month at the most.” She walked up to him and smiled into his eyes. “If she is – and the child is a boy – then he will be Emperor one day.”
He brought his lips down to hers for a kiss and then rested his forehead gently against hers. “Oh, I hope so much for that.” Then he took a deep breath. “The Senate awaits to hear the latest news from the frontiers.”
The Senate House was, oddly enough, one of his favourite buildings in Rome. He still wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was the history of the place. The look of the place. The thought that so many famous people – Emperors, Senators alike – had walked into the place, had spoken, had decided, had lived there, was even now quite sobering.
Stilicho looked around from his favourite place on the stone benches. He was next to the entrance, which meant that he could lean against some stonework when things got too boring, plus he liked the fact that in case of emergency he could make a quick exit. Not that that was the case today. No, today the Emperor was sitting in the chair of the senior consul, next to Bassus. The latter was reading from a scroll. The former looked… well, unaccustomedly interested in everything. He’d known sessions of the Senate in which Honorius had seemed close to nodding off.
“Conscript Fathers,” the Emperor intoned, breaking into the quiet murmurs of conversation, “I call upon Flavius Stilicho to give us his appreciations as to the current situation on our borders.”
Stilicho stood, shaking the folds of his toga into place, adjusting the weight onto his left arm and then stepped down on to the floor of the Senate. “Caesar,” he said, with a bow. “Conscript Fathers. I am honoured to speak to you this fine day. I am also pleased to tell you that the condition of our border on the Rhenus is very favourable indeed. No-one currently threatens our forces there.”
“Because they’re all either dead or fighting amongst themselves,” a cynical voice muttered to his left and he turned slightly to see Marcus Caecilius Strabo observing him with dark amusement. He smiled a very small smile in response.
“Senator Strabo is quite correct – for the time being however.” He turned back to look at the rest of the Senate. “That said, the situation is not an ideal one, as our forces on the Limes are still far weaker than they should be. There are many reasons for this, Conscript Fathers, many reasons indeed. I do not have the time to list them all.”
“Adrianople,” a voice muttered in the assembled Senators and Stilicho suppressed a wince. He did not like to think about the Battle of Adrianople, almost 30 years before. He’d been a young man freshly blooded with the Eagles. Blooded was the operative word. The aftermath of Adrianople had been one of the worst sights of his life. It had also been a disaster for Rome. The Goths had flooded into Greece, the Empire had been very badly weakened and event upon event had cascaded on until… well hopefully he would be able to stop the rot.
“That said, Magna Germania is not where we should be most worried at the moment. It is the situation North and East of the Danubius where we should turn our eyes to. And our swords. The other Goths, those Easterners who did not come earlier, are on the march. Westwards, always Westwards. Why are they marching? Because there are yet more barbarians behind them. There is a storm coming, Conscript Fathers, a black and terrible storm. That storm is made up of cloud upon cloud of barbarians. Heruli. Scirii. And of course the Hunnoi, who have appeared and disappeared like smoke these past ten or so years.
“Conscript Fathers, I will not lie to you. As Magister Militum I must tell you that as things currently stand Italy – and therefore Rome itself - is vulnerable. We must retrench. We must rebuild, not least the Legions that have been the sword and shield of Rome these many centuries. Far too many of the legions are but ghosts of what they were once. And we still have far too many Foederati in our ranks.”
A mutter of unease broke out and swelled as he looked out at them all. Far too many of them didn’t have a clue about warfare, and those that did were a mixed bag, thinking of themselves as experts for having once wielded a sword a few times.
“Conscript Fathers, we need to adapt the policies started by the great and most noble Caesar, Theodosius. He was starting from a position of calamity when he started to rebuild the Legions after Adrianople. We too are starting from a low position due to the years of warfare and chaos along the frontiers. We must get Romans back into the Legions. We must train, train and then train again. And we must guard the Danubius. For if we do not then we will have to guard the Alps. And then the Padus. And then the Tiber. And then…” He let his voice fade away. The great room was now utterly silent and even his friendly enemy Caecilius Strabo was silent and grim.
“So,” Stilicho s
aid with a sigh. “Conscript Fathers we have a great deal of work to do. The Visigoths are, I am glad to report no longer as great a threat as they once were. Their losses at Mogontiacum were very grave, they have lost the unifying figure of Alaric and they are now fighting amongst themselves. Many have now volunteered to fight for Rome, as they are tired of the constant warfare and squabbling amongst themselves. We can use these men and their families. I propose to settle them along the Limes on the Rhenus, where they will provide a strong shield against future incursions from Magna Germania.”
Strabo leant forwards slightly. “And what of the Gauls? What do they say about this plan of yours?”
“It is for their own protection. It will strengthen them – they will see that.” Stilicho looked at Strabo out of the corner of his eye. The man did not look convinced and annoying as he could be, he often had a good point.
“And what of Britannia?” The question came from a nondescript Senator at the back, whose name Stilicho couldn’t quite place. “What news from there?”
Ah. He had been hoping that this point wasn’t brought up. His reach didn’t extend to that bloody island and he needed to look strong. The fact that he wanted to not have to worry about that bloody place and its fractious leaders was beside the point.
“The question of Britannia is a vexed one, Conscript Fathers,” he admitted. “There is much that we cannot provide for them at the moment. However, we hear that they have successfully defended themselves against several attacks by seaborne barbarians, so I do not think that there is much for us to be concerned about at this time. As we rebuild in Gaul then we will be able to send what strength we can to them.” Which was at present three men in a small boat, or that was what it felt like.
The Senators were nodding and muttering amongst themselves and Stilicho smiled inwardly. They’d bought it. Good. Britannia would have to wait for another day, or rather another year. He had too much to do to care much about those would-be treasonous fools.
Chapter Four
Telorix watched the other rider carefully as he approached on his tired horse. It had been several months since old Honorious had last been on a horse, but the arrival of the new riding tack from Deva had gotten the old man into such a frenzy of excitement (tempered by doubt that such a simple idea could work) that there was no way that he could have been prevented from getting on the horse.
He’d started off with some simple circuits around the stable yard, just to try out the new saddle with its, what was the name again, oh yes – stapeda. Then he’d reined the horse in and sat there for several minutes staring down at his feet and at the saddle itself, with its usual pommel.
Telorix had been about to ask what the Decurion had been thinking about when all of a sudden he’d lifted his head, and then walked the horse out slowly to the South gate, past the small group of quizzical men standing at the entrance to the forge.
And then Honorius had flicked his reins and ridden out at a brisk trot, keeping his horse under tight control as he again tested his balance carefully as he rode. Telorix had forgotten how good a rider the older man was, seeming to become one with the animal. The trot had then turned into a canter and then suddenly with a whoop of glee Honorius had vanished over the nearest hill at a gallop.
Telorix had very nearly run to the stable and saddled his own horse to go after the crazy old fool, but he’d had a feeling that such behaviour would not have gone down well, either with Honorius or the others.
The fort had changed over the past few months. More men had joined them. Not a lot, but enough to make the place come alive again with the sound of hobnails clattering over stone. The clang of red-hot metal on the anvil. The neighing and stamping of horses. And the sound of voices, speaking, cursing and even singing.
Once a month the supply waggon came bringing with it orders again, new weapons, new tack and above all news. Telorix had been a little dazed by the whole thing, but Honorious – well, the years had fallen off his shoulders like snow falling from the branches of a tree.
As the de facto second in command of the fort Telorix had been forced for the sake of decorum to wait by the gates and then to walk back to the barracks and the waiting wax tablets listing their supplies and current status. He had however called up to Ilerix on the roof to let him know when Honorius was back.
The word had come about an hour later. Honorius slowly approached the fort from the East, on a rather tired horse, but there was nothing tired about Honorius. The man must have been exhausted from the amount of riding that he’d done, but he didn’t show it – just a crackling excitement.
“Telorix,” he said jovially as he dismounted in the yard. “One day I wish to meet this Lucius Tullius Cato. I will shake him by the hand. And then I will kick him up the arse. Such a simple, simple idea! Simple but brilliant. Embarrassing really. I’ve been riding horses, man and boy for almost 50 years now. Why didn’t I think of these damn things?”
“Over-familiarity perhaps Decurion?”
The old man chuckled fiercely and then unsaddled the horse with practised hands. “There you go little one. I’ll rub you down and then feed you.” He turned back to Telorix. “There is one thing though. The saddle is now too bulky. With all the balance supplied by these stapeda, the top of the saddle is wrong. Too much weight. If we reduce the front – and the back – then we’ll have a lighter saddle that will give more endurance. It won’t chafe the back of the horse as badly either.”
This made him think – and then Telorix nodded thoughtfully. The Decurion had a point and a very good one. “I’ll take a look at it Decurion.”
“Good!” Honorius slapped him on the back and then looked around, his nostrils flaring. “The sooner the better. There’s something in the wind.”
Chapter Five
Gratianus looked down at the map and then traced the line that marked the Wall lightly with a finger. It was in a better state now than it had been for some years. More men. More equipment. More supplies. But it still wasn’t in as good a state as he might have wanted.
He sighed as he leant back in his chair and then stared at the wall. The great legionary fortress at Eboracum was busier than it had been for a while, but it was still not as well provided for as it had been in the day of his father. The troops they were training there were shadows of their predecessors. True those shadows were gaining in strength, but they needed more time.
He wasn’t sure they had as much time as people thought.
Oh it was true that the worst of the raids had been crushed, thanks to Cato and his cavalry. And it was also true that the raids were starting to die away, as there was nothing like a bloody slaughter or two to dissuade raiders. But even though the Sea Wolves had been bloodied they were still out there. They were still in possession of their shipyards and their villages, their towns and their farms. And if their land was still looking less than fruitful when compared to Britannia and if they still thought that it might be worth a raid to get food, or weapons, or slaves or even land, then they’d try it.
He thought back over his knowledge of history. Too bad that some of the legendary generals and Emperors of the past, such as Drusus, Tiberius, Germanicus, Marcus Aurelius and others hadn’t gone there, properly. Why in the name of Hades hadn’t they ravaged the Northern peninsular at least once?
Raising his eyebrows at the ceiling he smiled slightly and then leant forwards again. Well. He needed to write to the Votadini again. He needed to make sure that the Sea Wolves hadn’t created any of their filthy dens between the Wall and the Antonine. And he also had to write to Aurelianus again. That man could be annoying but at the same time he also had the knack of putting his finger on the crux off the matter at hand. And the cavalry units that he had created were nothing short of brilliant.
He was also a counterweight to Vitalis – and there was a man that worried him. He was a slimy, conniving, manipulating bastard with the survival skills of a member of the Imperial Court itself.
As for his son, well there
was a truly worrying rodent.
Gratianus sighed and then straightened up again. Another meeting of the Council was coming up and hopefully someone just might have more information about what was happening along the Rhenus with the remnants of the Visigoths.
Flavius Constantius stared at the messenger with what he knew was some incredulity. “What did you say again?”
They were standing in the main meeting room of the Basilica – which had been the place where the Emperors had stayed when they came to Augusta Treverorum. And it was not a place that Constantinus remembered with much affection. He still remembered Magnus Maximus’s last visit here, before he had ridden out South to his defeat at the Battle of the Save and his later death at Aquileia. And he also remembered the death of Maximus’ son, Favius Victor, in this very building. He had been strangled to death by that vicious bastard Arbogast. The latter had been a Frank of course and his later death had not been a tragedy at all.
The messenger licked his lips nervously. “The Magister Militum has promised the Visigoths lands by the Rhenus, sir.”
Constantius repressed the sudden need to close his eyes and swear like a marine. “And his reasons for this are?”
The messenger looked at him whilst his jaw wobbled up and down for a long moment. “I’m… not privy to such information. Sorry sir?”
“Give me the dispatch. And then leave, now.”
The messenger handed it over and then fled. Constantius broke the seal and then read it as fast as possible. When he’d finished reading it he threw it against the nearest wall. Damn him. Damn the man to whichever hell was currently fashionable. Stilicho was too busy shoring up his own position to pay any attention to what was happening internally in Gaul.
And Gaul at the moment was a tinderbox. Too much worry about what was happening on the other side of the Rhenus. Too much worry about what wasn’t happening on the other side of the Alps. Too much worry about the defences on the Rhenus and how slowly they were recovering. And it was the last part that was most worrying for him. It was obvious that Stilicho was most concerned about Italy. Especially with the Ostrogoths on the move yet again.
